


Bump II: Hearse Goes By

by Barb G (troutkitty)



Series: Ghost Stories [2]
Category: due South
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-11-21
Updated: 2000-11-21
Packaged: 2017-10-24 13:14:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/263885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/troutkitty/pseuds/Barb%20G
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ray faces his decaying demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bump II: Hearse Goes By

**Author's Note:**

> Not, not *not* a sweetness and light hallowe'en story. Sequel to Bump in the Night. Death, destruction and decay. Beta nods to Honisoit who killed all the rampaging commas. Yes, I know Dief's deaf, but I'm keeping those bits in.

The clock switches from 11:59 to 12:00 and the a.m. light comes on. I stare at it, unblinking, but I don't feel any more tired just because it's midnight. Fraser's dead weight beside me, yet I don't feel the heat from him.

By 12:41 I can't lie still any more, my body aches too much.

Fraser doesn't move as I slide out of bed, carefully. Diefenbaker raises his head and looks at me. I press my finger to my lips and he puts his head back down again. I owe the wolf one, but it's better than him waking Fraser up.

I pull on my jacket and go. I should take Dief with me, but I don't.

I walk for an hour, but it's like an itch I can't scratch. A nightmare I can't wake up from. It's the fourth night.The first night Fraser stayed up with me. We sat around and watched videos all night. The second night he tried to, but Fraser needed his sleep. I woke him up last night getting out of bed, but he didn't get up with me.

I pass an old bag lady, and I'm automatically reaching for the change I have in my pocket, when she looks at me. The left side of her face is bruised and yellow--under the cadaver grey skin it's easy to see where the blood has settled after her body's been still for a while. She looks at me, blue lips parting and she stinks of decay and dirt. I jump back, heartbeat thumping against my ribcage, and I can't decide between running or puking. The saliva in my mouth turns thick.

And she pulls back. Her skin is still dirty, but unbruised, and the stench from her is now just unwashed flesh. "Mister? You okay?" she asks.

I shake my head. She doesn't want to take the couple of quarters I have on me, but she needs them. She pushes her shopping cart away.

It takes me a while to be able to walk again, and when I do, my legs are shaky.

Fraser's awake as I let myself back into the bedroom. I slip back under the blankets fully clothed and shivering. I'm still cold, even though he's right next to me. I can smell him. Feel him. But when he touches my face, I can't feel his fingers.

"Ray?" he asks.

I open my mouth to tell him. If he can tell me he's been seeing his dead father for the past four years, I can tell him I saw zombie-bag-lady, but I don't know how to start. "I... uh... um..."

Now he's worried and I'm feeling more stupid than ever. "I saw something,"  
I finally manage to say.

"Ray?" he asks again. He puts his hand on my hip over my jeans, and I take a deep breath. His warmth finally reaches me, and I can breathe without it hurting. I hadn't even noticed it had hurt.

"The bag lady... her face. She was... dead. And then she wasn't. Dead, I mean. She was fine, but I saw her. I saw her and I smelled her and she was dead."

He doesn't say anything, but puts his arms around me. I can sleep.

The alarm clock goes off less than four hours later, but I feel better than I have in a week. Fraser's slower getting out of bed, and he doesn't believe me when I tell him I'm okay. I am okay. I'm good.

I need coffee.

Fraser calls the consulate. I can hear him in the other room, and he's making excuses to be at the police station all day. They don't mind. I'm willing to bet not a single weird thing happened before he transferred in... but then again, they are Canadians. They probably bring it on themselves.

Coffee's ready. The smell of it is heaven. There is a god, and he lives in Columbia. Fraser comes back fully dressed, and I take the cup with me.

It's a good drive in. I see other people and they stay alive. Which is a good thing. It's been a slow week, the weather's turned and fewer people are out on the street getting themselves into trouble. I don't need Fraser. In fact, I tell him that. "I don't need you," I say.

He just looks at me, and I go back to filing. Still, I'm glad he's here, but he's looking at me out of the corner of his eye. I look back the same way, all covert-like, and he looks away first.

Welsh doesn't call me into his office until three and by then I'm done all my paperwork. If Fraser hadn't been there I still would be working though. And I know it.

He gives us the address. It's only two blocks from my apartment. My throat tightens and Fraser's upset too. He's already staked out my neighbourhood; it's his neighbourhood now, and he feels responsible for its people.

I know. I know before I see the shopping cart. It's the bag-lady. It's the bag-lady. She's been there a while, and her face is bruised with settled blood. Her fists are clenched and she looks afraid.

Fraser looks at me. "Is it her?" he asks.

I nod. "Yeah." It's her.

He puts his hand on my shoulders but there are uniforms already there. We look over the area, but there's no sign of foul play. She... just died.

People do that. Die. People die all the time.

I play dumb. Sue me. So I'm probably the last person to see her alive but again, I don't say anything. Fraser plays dumb right along beside me. The coroner comes and takes her away, and Fraser watches the uniform going through the contents of her shopping cart. Nothing.

It's past five. Fraser takes me out for supper. We're sitting at the diner and I don't like this not talking thing we're doing but I can't seem to break it. He looks at me and I look at him, "People die, Fraser," I say. I've been repeating that in my head for the last hour but when I actually say it out loud, it sounds weird.

"People do," he says.

"I didn't kill her," I say, and then feel really stupid. He's not going to be thinking I did, I know that. But I have to say it anyway. "I didn't," I repeat.

"I know you didn't," he says. His voice is gentle. We lost the easy banter. It didn't come back from the Territories with us. I mean, even when we... I flush. He takes my hand, and I don't pull away.

I smell the blood before the waiter comes. It's thick and sweet and it triggers my gag reflex. Fraser lets my hand go and the waiter doesn't seem to notice the bullet's entrance or exit wound in his head. Bone shards sit on his shoulder and thick blood runs down his arm to drip on the table. I can't get out of the booth without pushing past him. I can't move. I can't breathe. The waiter's staring at me like I'm insane, and I can actually see inside the head wound. The entrance wound has powder burns. Fraser's up and trying to get the waiter away from the table but by the time he takes the first step, he's back to having a complete skull.The smell of blood lingers though, and I turn my head.

Fraser pays. I don't stop until I'm out of the diner and leaning up against my car. Dief comes to the door inside but I don't acknowledge him.

"What did you see?" Fraser asks once he gets to me. He puts his hand on my shoulder, but I yank away.I'm not ready to be touched yet.

"Gunshot wound to the head," I say when I'm able. I can still smell the blood and the singed hair.

He doesn't ask me if I'm sure. He doesn't ask me if I'm crazy. I'm still shaken and sick and he just stands over me. The waiter and the cook are staring out the window at us but I don't want to look at them. I start walking. Fraser follows, but I don't want him there. "Just go home, Fraser," I say.

"I most certainly am not going to leave you," Fraser snaps, but I just look at him.

"Get away from me, Fraser," I say, softly.

"No, Ray. Please get back into the car and I'll take you home."

If he touches me, I'll tear him apart. I'll rip off his arm and beat him with it. I'll tear at his throat and drink his blood. The violent impulses are so sudden and strong, I back away from him. "Just leave me the fuck alone, Fraser," I snap.

He's taken back. Hell, I'm taken back. My throat hurts from how deep the words came from inside me. He opens his mouth one more time to try to convince me, but I walk away from him. He doesn't follow. I don't know what I would have done if he tried.

I get home and Fraser's grimly waiting for me by the door. Welsh called while I was gone. I let Frase drive us downtown.

He takes me back to the police station. Welsh is in his office with an IA guy, who is holding an evidence bag with two quarters in it.

I stare at it rather than at the suit. "Would you like to explain yourself, detective?" he says.

"I uh... I went for a walk last night," I say.

"What time was that?" the man asks.

I shake my head. "Two? Two-thirty?" I don't look at Fraser for conformation.

"And you saw the bag-lady. Was she alive at the time?"

I hesitate, too long, but the question makes me think of her dead body. "Yes," I say. "I gave her the quarters and then I went home."

"And you didn't mention this to either the officers on the scene or to the coroner?"

I don't say anything. There's nothing to say without sounding guilty.

"And what happened then, detective?"

"Nothing. I went home, went to bed."

"Alone?"

I knew it would come up. I don't know if I should lie or tell the truth and I take too long. "I asked if you were alone, detective."

"No," I say. I flush, but Fraser doesn't try to interrupt me. He's a bit pink under the collar as well."Constable Fraser was there."

"Oh, really," Agent Lonodum asks. His face twists into a dark sort of smile. "And what were you doing there, Constable?" he asks.

Fraser doesn't blink. "Sleeping," he says.

"What time did Detective Kowalski return to bed, Constable?"

"Three thirty."

"Is that a rough estimation or an exact time?"

"Three thirty-two. Roughly," Fraser says.

The IA guy nods. "And what happened next?" he asks.

Fraser's face is guileless. "We slept," he says. "It was quite late."

"Don't leave the city, Detective. You know the procedure," the IA guy says. They've got to know I'm not seriously a suspect, but there are rules to follow. I nod, and as he walks by he brushes past my sleeve. I pull back and he smiles at me. He leaves. Welsh dismisses Fraser as well, which makes us alone.

Welsh doesn't say anything. "She was alive when you left," he says.

"Why would I kill a bag-lady?" I ask.

He looks at me oddly, but he didn't keep me behind for confirmation of my innocence, I guess. The phone rings, and I know... I mean, I really know... it's about the diner. The knot in my stomach is too tight for it to be anything else but.

Welsh glances to me but then waves me out of his office rather than giving me the phone.

It takes me a while to convince Fraser we have to go. By the time we get there the first ambulance is driving off, without its lights on. Police cars are parked up on the sidewalk, and the glass of the door's window is shattered and blood-splattered. Blood and... other stuff. Right at about head-level.

Fraser drives off without me saying anything but it's too late. One of the uniforms have already taken our license plate number down.

I'm cold by the time we get back to the apartment and Fraser takes me in, puts me down on the couch, and wraps a blanket around my shoulders. He leaves me, and I try to call him back but I can't speak. The phone rings, but it's a distant sound coming from under water and I don't look up as Fraser answers it. He's agreeing with whoever's calling and then assures the person we'll be there tomorrow morning.

He brings me coffee. I wrap my hands around the cup, wanting to crush it for some reason. "Welsh would like to see you," he says.

Well, no shit. I don't say anything. He's sweetened the coffee too much but he probably did it for a reason.Shock. Right. I forget each time what it's like.

He touches my temples, where... Muldoon touched them, back in the Territories.

I don't want Fraser to touch me there but I don't pull away. "This isn't you, Ray," he says.

Of course it's me. He's not the one seeing what I'm seeing. I can't look at him. It's late and he stays up with me to watch late-night television. He gives me the remote and I flip through the channels one after the other until Fraser's asleep on my shoulder. Dief raises his head again as I force myself up and out from under him and he's not going to listen as I press my finger to my lips. He opens his mouth threateningly, and I shake my head. "Okay, come on," I whisper. He wags his tail and follows me out.

"You're as bad as he is," I say, but Dief doesn't respond. Still, I'm glad he's with me--that he wants to come with me. "You're with me, you listen to me, Diefenbaker. Do you hear me?"

He pretends to ignore me. I stop walking, and he stops with me. "Do you hear me?" I repeat.

He looks away but I'd march him back to the apartment if he doesn't agree, and he seems to know that. He lowers his head and whines. I nod, and we continue on.

If it is... Muldoon, I don't want to be around Fraser.

I don't want to look at him and see his head caved in or his throat cut or his belly sliced open. I don't want to feel the heat of the blood coming from him, or smell the urine. I just don't.

It's cold and I didn't bring my jacket. Stupid. But I'm too numb to feel the cold. I'm too numb to feel just about anything. Dief keeps me out of trouble; sometimes it's good to have a wolf around. I walk in areas I wouldn't go in alone as a cop, but as a fellow crazy person I blend right in.

I should have known he'd find me. I should have known it. And Dief didn't even give me away. I spent days away and no one shows up dead in front of me and then he finds me. "Ray," he says, softly, from the mouth of the alleyway.

I don't move. I'm still mostly hidden in the shadows and Dief is silent beside me. "Ray, come on."

Nothing. "Diefenbaker, you're not doing him any favours. Come on."

I go to elbow Dief to keep him quiet but I hit a garbage can instead and the noise gives me away. Fraser comes into the alleyway and stands over me but I don't look up at him. I don't. I just know I'm going to see something horrible.

But I don't. His skin's normal and he doesn't have anything sticking out of him. It's only when he's near that I notice exactly how cold I am. I take a deep breath and my lungs feel wet inside. "Ray?" he asks, gently.

"Stay away from me, Fraser," I say.

"I can't do that, Ray. I'm sorry. You're frozen, and it's going to get colder."

I want to tell him that I don't care. I don't. His hand is on my arm and it's so warm it burns.

The city's overcast and the orange glow to the clouds is eerie. I want to shrink back from it but Fraser takes me home in the car. I don't want to be there, either, but he's insistent. He ignores while he berates Diefenbaker in the back seat. "Don't. I told him he could come if he listened to me," I say.

"Don't excuse his behaviour. He knows it was wrong."

"Would you rather me have gone out without him?" I ask.

Fraser leaves Diefenbaker alone.

I settle back down. "How did you know I was there?" I ask.

"I didn't. I called your name in front of all the alleys. Eventually I had to find the right one."

Fraser-logic. I huddle lower down in the seat and crank up the heat.

He has something he wants to say, but he's not saying it. I'm perfectly still. "They found your bracelet at the crime scene," he says, finally.

I look down to my wrist, but the metal is gone. It takes a second for that to register, and I stare at my wrist as though I can bring it back if I concentrate hard enough. "I don't..."

Fraser's face is grim. "I know," he says.

I want a hot bath and a long sleep. If I am wanted, they can come get me in the morning, but when I get home, Welsh is waiting along with the IA guy. I hear their voices as Fraser opens the door. I don't want to look Welsh in the eye, leaving was a really stupid thing to do, but I can't explain why I had to. I had to. I force myself to look him in the eyes, and then step back.

Welsh's head is hanging off to the side of his neck, the bullet has shot through his throat, shattering the bone. His eyes bulge from his skull, and they've rolled back. He stinks, and I cover my mouth. "Detective? Detective, are you listening to me?"

He says the words easily around his swollen tongue. I blink, looking away but the image doesn't go, not like the others. I stumble back, grabbing for Fraser, for Dief, for anything, but the IA guy stops Fraser from grabbing me. I don't want to look at him, but when he turns to look at me, the bone  
against bone sound comes from inside Welsh's neck.

Fraser pulls away from the IA guy and he's beside me. I realize I've curled up in front of the door, but Fraser's there and he helps me up. "As you can see, Detective Kowalski isn't feeling well. I will take him to the police station myself tomorrow, Lieutenant, if I have to barricade myself in front of the door."

"He's under arrest," the IA guy says. "And he's coming with us."

"I understand he's under arrest. But I'm sure he'd like to shower and change. If you release him into my custody," Fraser begins, calmly. Even as Welsh is nodding, making those horrible sounds, the IA guy is adamant.

"He's already tried to flee once. I'm not taking a second chance with him."

"I didn't--" I start, but falter. My bracelet was there. The quarters were mine. Maybe I had. I'm too tired to think straight, too tired to argue. I look down to my bare wrist. I shake my head; I hadn't noticed. It's been with me since I was seventeen, and it's gone and I didn't even notice it.

Welsh's head pulls back on right, and he's back to normal. I still don't want him touching me, and I shrink back when he tries. Fraser gets between us and Welsh backs away. "You're under arrest, detective," the IA guy says. I don't fight him as he puts the cuffs on.

He touches my sleeve to do so. He touches my sleeve. Like he did in Welsh's office. Like he did when he took the bracelet. I jump away from him, but he grabs the cuffs and hauls me back. "It's him," I yell at Fraser. "He's the one."

Fraser looks at me, but Welsh holds him back. I'm tired, and I can't keep myself from fighting. Welsh is shouting and Fraser's trying to logically argue the point, and their voices are jumbled in my ear. I shake my head, and suddenly I have a gun pressed up against the base of my skull.

Welsh and Fraser shut up. I'm perfectly still. "Put the gun away, he's not resisting," Welsh says.

"Really? That's funny, I think he's trying to escape."

I'm tired, and when I look at him, his face kinda shifts around. I've seen the face before. Twice, briefly in the north and a whole lotta times in my sleep, since. "I'm not trying to--" I start, but the gun jams up again painfully and I'm quiet. Real quiet.

Well, fuck.

"We sent you back," Fraser says, needlessly.

"There's always a loophole," he says. "You both die, I get to stay." The IA guy's mouth doesn't move.

I rub my eyes. "Then why the visions?" I say.

"Oh, that's just for entertainment purposes."

"Would someone please explain to me what exactly is going on?" Welsh asks. I try to jerk away as the IA guy takes his gun away from my skull, but the grip on my cuffs are too tight. Welsh goes to take a step back, and I throw myself to the left as Fraser throws himself over Welsh. We hit and roll at  
the same time, but then the IA guy over me and I can't see what's going on.

Warm blood splashes down on my face, and with my hands cuffed behind me, I can't wipe it off. It drips into the cracks of my lips and I can't get enough oxygen through my nose. I'm going to drown in it, but when I open my mouth to gasp, the blood's tasteless. Despite the gaping wound in his skull, the IA guy pulls me to my feet. I stare at him, numb, as Fraser and Welsh stand up.

I don't know what's going on. Something's wrong, and that's about all I get. Fraser looks to me, and the fingers on his left hand are counting down. Three. Two. One.

I throw myself down. The IA guy was expecting me to move away, not down, and he can't hold my entire weight even though he almost tears my arms off trying. I guess it's enough of a distraction. Two guns go off, but I can't see who until the IA guy's body falls over my legs.

At least I'm not spitting up his blood.

Welsh is down as well, only he's not getting up. Fraser's applying pressure to the side of Welsh's neck,but the graze barely scratched his skin. My stereo, however, is beyond repair.

Even though Welsh is the one shot, I'm taken down to the hospital, but there's nothing wrong with me. I tell everyone who pulls back the cloth divider, and they all look at me like 'sure you are'. But I am. It just takes a while to prove it.

Welsh is in the bed next to me, already bandaged up. He's just waiting for his discharge papers, but I'm here for the night. Something about dehydration and exposure and a slight touch of pneumonia.

I just want my bath and my bed, but settle for just Fraser. We're silent, and I'm wondering if the  
oppressive cloud that's been hanging around will continue, but Fraser looks at me and smiles. I find myself smiling back. We're good.

He flushes. I flush with him. Really good.

It's just too bad that I fall asleep before we can do anything about it.


End file.
